


harry potter and the magical rectal prolapse

by caikio



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caikio/pseuds/caikio
Summary: this is a satire fic. read it or don't. at least it's well written.





	1. prologue

It was a dark and stormy night. Voldemort looked out of the bay window by his plush velvet rocking chair, admiring the night sky. It was dark. And stormy. He stood to pace the length of his evil lair and stopped by the bookshelf, running his index finger along the spine of each tome until he stopped at one that was worn and faded. Morty pulled this book from its cedar foundation and went to place it at his desk. This particular publication had always vexed him. It had no displayed title, no attributable author. Rather, it had been left to him after the passing of his father, Sir Thomas Riddle Senior II the Second. Voldemort looked at the book but did not care much to open it. After all, he was already fully aware of the contents. Many times he had repeated this ritual, often enough that it stood out amongst the other novels in the collection as having never collected any dust. Instead, he thought to pour himself some tea. Being a masochistic villain with poor taste, he opted for green tea. As he poured the leaf-steeped beverage he wondered to himself what relevance this vaguely written prologue would have to the remainder of the story.


	2. i

“Oi, give me the nut!” cried Harry. 

“No,” Hermione replied, the tone of her voice suggesting a building resentment toward his resistance. In her hand, a single almond.  
“We’ve been over this. The environmental damage caused by the almond harvesting industry far outweighs the value of a convenient tree bark flavoured snack. Are you aware of the amount of water required to grow and harvest even a single almond? No, you aren’t. Because that would require any amount of critical thinking, and you two,” she said, tousling Ron’s hair, “care about little else other than your own problems.”  
Ron made a muffled but inquisitive whimpering sound. This was the best he could do with a mouth full of almonds. 

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione as she leaned against the old architectural pillar bordering the school quadrangle, turning the nut over in her palm. He sometimes wished she were only a little bit stupid.  
“Hermione, really, now is NOT the most opportune moment for this discussion. Break ends in 10 minutes and I have a test next period.” Harry pulled out his Potions textbook and set it on the ground in front of him.  
“I never revise before a quiz,” said Hermione earnestly. “You need to understand the coursework properly. Have you not listened to a single thing Professor Snape has said all term?”  
Harry was not listening.  
“I could tutor you if you want,” she proposed, seating herself beside Harry and looking over the page that he now had open. Hermione made this offer frequently, and each time she asked he would say no. She couldn’t understand why someone would refuse the help of such an esteemed scholar. 

Harry oft remarked that he thought her pretentious, though secretly he admired Hermione’s love of learning. He wished that he could only know what it was like to love something in that way. 

(He believed this to be what Hermione would call “foreshadowing.”)

Ron brushed the almond crumbs off of his robes, his eyes tracing the movement of Hermione’s fingers as she went to turn the page, delicately. 

—

In the boys’ common room now, Ron and Harry sat by each other near the fireplace. Harry was studying, and Ron was convincing himself that he was (technically) studying by practicing a levitation charm. In practice, he was simply lying on the sofa with his wand pointed upward, making small movements as he suspended a feather above him. It seemed to dance in the air, dipping and rising. He found the movement hypnotic. This was an idle task which only served the purpose of giving Ron a way to pass time until they were called down to the dinner.  


“I’m bored,” Harry remarked. “What year even is this? It’s the nineties. What the fuck.”  
Being that he had little else to occupy him Harry decided that the most amusement he might get would be to drink a glass of water. Unfortunately the Gryffindor common room sink was out of order after another student had tried to use it as an enclosure for some small magical creature that he had found out in the forest. So, Harry decided instead that he would walk to the nearest fountain.

As he was walking down one of the building’s long and otherwise unoccupied hallways, Harry became convinced that he had heard a noise. It sounded almost like the call of a platypus. Inquisitive, he turned towards the source of the sound but saw nothing. Probably just the floorboards, he thought. 

Harry passed the Headmaster’s office and looked in through the window. There Dumbledore was sitting stoically, albeit with a tired weariness in his eyes, reading over a set of documents. He was likely performing administrative work or other very important Headmaster duties. Harry thought that he could do with a trim to his beard. 

He was busy thinking about this when he heard the noise again. Closer now.  
A strange feeling arose in Harry’s chest. He felt like the protagonist of a fanfiction written by someone who had no exposure to the base material -- like he was almost himself, but not quite. Like something was off somehow. He went to continue walking down the hallway but stopped when he noticed a fleeting shadow reflected in the lamplight. It was big, dark and looming. And it was following him.  


He continued on for a while attempting to evade whatever malice was following, but felt as he turned a corner the presence of the wand in his robe pocket. Harry drew it with a deep breath and turned himself around. By this stage in his time at Hogwarts he was well accustomed to strange things happening. Surely this could be no more confronting.

But as he drew closer to the shadow, he found, oddly, that its form began to shift. He held himself in wary anticipation.

Slowly, something poked itself out from behind the corner column, and to Harry’s surprise it was a small creature, no bigger than an apple. He recognised it immediately -- something elementary from his early years’ Care of Magical Creatures syllabus. It was a niffler.  
“Hey, hey there little guy,” he prompted. “Some big shadow you’ve got there. You almost frightened me.” He reached down to pet its head and it purred in contentment. Before he could ask its purpose in following him, the niffler reached into its pouch and pulled out a sealed letter. It was addressed to H. Potter. Tentatively, Harry took the letter from its grasp. 

The envelope was sealed with black wax that shone like obsidian, and had been imprinted with an upside-down Hogwarts emblem set in gold. He opened it to find a handwritten note:

Dearest Harry,  
I believe that I have fallen into possession of some information that you might find pertinent to you. By the forest, come tonight and you will be guided to our meeting place. Sneak out via the west entrance. 

Don’t tell anyone.  
T.R.

Harry felt a tinge of confusion and excitement at this. It had been a while since he had done anything adventurous. However he was somewhat fearful of the sender’s motives. How could he know whether it was safe to go alone? He worried about the potential ramifications if he were to get caught. 

He stood for a while, reading over the letter again and letting a quiet excitement build within him. 

It was at this point that Harry heard footsteps moving towards him. The niffler had noticed this too and retreated to safety, but Harry was not so small or agile, and could not just as easily make himself hidden. Students were not meant to leave their rooms at this time in the evening. He quietly guided himself along the wall, gently trying at each door handle until he found one that would open. Inside the empty classroom, he waited anxiously until he heard the sound of footsteps dissipate. Once he was sure it was safe to leave, Harry tucked the letter securely into the pocket of his robes and exited to the common room. He had forgotten about the water. 

\-- 

Harry returned to find that Ron was still doing little of anything useful. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. He wanted so badly to tell Ron about the letter and muse over what it might have meant, but he knew that he couldn’t. Instead he went to retrieve his Cloak of Invisibility in preparation for the night’s activities, and set it safely by his bedside.


	3. ii

After dinner, Harry returned to the sleeping quarters with the others and waited until everyone was asleep or settled. Then, as a quiet calm had set over the room, he gently stood from his bed and walked to the bathroom -- this way if anyone had seen him they would think he was only going to use the lavatory, and nobody would be suspicious. Here he equipped the cloak, and from this point it was a fairly simple route to the west entrance. Simple enough that it isn’t worth writing about, anyway.

The moon was full, and provided enough light for him to see the path ahead. He was grateful for this as he could not have brought a lamp with him for fear of being seen. 

Harry stood at the edge of the forest and looked around before removing his cloak. The night air was cool and still, and the faintest breeze didn’t even disturb the leaves on the trees above him. 

He walked on for a while, searching for some clue as to where he was meant to be. The note had said that he would be guided to a meeting place, but Harry could see nothing. After several minutes he stopped to notice the crickets chirping around him, and his eyes fell onto something in the distance -- a faint blue light. Moving towards it he could see that something was gently glowing through the underbrush. 

He stepped closer again and felt horror rise within him as he saw what lay ahead. A unicorn, collapsed to the ground with blood pooling from its abdomen. It looked as though it had been attacked. Harry knelt and gently ran his palm down the bridge of its nose, hoping to offer some form of comfort. The unicorn looked up at him with melancholic eyes. If it were able to speak, Harry imagined that it might be saying “ow”. 

As he rose to stand again Harry felt a hand grab at his wrist. Before he could turn to see who it was, a cloaked figure swiftly took him under its dark mantle so that he was blinded, and cast an unfamiliar spell. Dazed and confused, a brilliant flash of light surrounded Harry as the grip strengthened on him. He closed his eyes tightly and surrendered to the stranger’s arms, knowing that he was unable to fight back. When they opened again, he knew not where he was. 

\--

The room was dark and carried a sweet scent. As Harry blinked his eyes open to the dim glow of candlelight, his vision shifted into focus and he gained some sense of the space around him. He remained where he was for a while, watching the light and shadows dance on the ceiling. Looking down he saw that the room appeared to be some kind of private lounge, with an old architectural style and plush velvet seating. It held a regal sort of beauty. Despite this he looked around and could not see the cloaked figure anywhere. The walls were lined with hundreds of books, and as Harry stood to move around he encountered a large wooden desk at one end of the room. Moving closer he could see that there was a pot of sealing wax and a stamp set upon it, amongst several loose documents and a single book which had been placed at its corner. He was somewhat relieved to know that he was in the right place, though he was growing increasingly anxious at the thought of having been left alone. 

It was as Harry began to wonder how he was going to get home that a door opened, and a tall dark figure stepped through it.  
“Harry,” said a gentle and cold-sounding voice. “So nice of you to be on time.” This sent a shudder down his spine. 

The figure slowly moved closer and began to reveal itself to him. Harry felt that he was about to go into shock. He looked up only to see the looming face of Lord Voldemort towering above him.

Harry now thought back to the letter’s closing insignia -- T.R. Tom Riddle. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He felt foolish. But what would Voldemort want with him? What was this secret information he claimed to possess?

“V-Voldemort,” Harry said half under his breath. The dark lord lifted something from a table and turned towards him. “Tea?” he offered.  
“No thanks.”  
“Please, child. Get yourself seated and comfortable.” Harry nervously sat himself down on a nearby settee, grappling within himself for the right words to say.  
“Why did you ask me here?” he asked. “What do you want?”  
“Oh I only wanted to see you, my boy.” Voldemort paced around the spot where Harry was seating, admiring him. “How handsome you are.”  
“I--I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been watching you,” said Voldemort. “For years I’d been holding myself out against you. I looked at you and all I saw was the product of your detestable parentage and the power you would one day have to overthrow me.”  
“But now,” he spoke softly, walking behind Harry and tracing his shoulder, “you are your own man.”  
Harry was confused.  
“I’ve tried to hate you, Potter. Really. I tried to destroy you and secure my name. But I think you have a kindness within you. Each time you have persisted. It’s really quite extraordinary.”  
“Thank you.” Harry said tentatively, not feeling entirely sure of himself.  
“Are you scared, boy?”  
“No,” he replied. “I’m nervous, but I’m not afraid.”  
“Good,” said Voldemort, softly placing a hand on Harry’s cheek. “That’s just how I want you.”  
As he moved closer, Harry admired his pale anemic complexion. There was something charming about him; like he wasn’t quite handsome, but he might have been. 

Before he could register what was happening, Voldemort pressed his lips against Harry’s. This caught him by surprise. It was gentler than he would have imagined, but something within him felt hungry. Harry didn’t know what to do but reciprocate. He lifted his hand to caress Voldemort’s smooth head as he leaned further into the kiss. Why am I doing this?, he thought to himself. He knew it made no sense, but a quiet part of him adored the feeling of being wanted. 

Voldemort slowly pulled away and looked into Harry’s eyes, judging his contentment.  
“To hell with the prophetics,” he growled, softly yet with a hint of sexual frustration. “It might be to your benefit not to challenge me, Potter. Things would be a lot more… fun... that way.” He turned to leave. Harry sat still and unblinking, still trying to process what had just occurred. 

He felt wrong for having enjoyed it, but he did. He really, really did. Harry could feel his heart beating throughout his entire body. He wanted more.


	4. iii

For the next week, Harry felt that he had been walking through a dream. He wasn’t sleeping or eating normally, and he had a certain tiredness about him. Ron and Hermione noticed that he appeared distant and tried to ask what was wrong, yet he denied that anything had changed. 

He could not stop himself from thinking back to that night. Wondering whether it had really happened the way he had remembered it. Wondering whether it might happen again. Worst of all, he felt uneasy at his shifting view of the villain to whom he was meant to be mortally opposed. He wondered whether Voldemort was perhaps like an onion - with many external layers guarding a tenderness at the centre. The way he had held him that night, all loving and lovely, suggested no hatred within his being. Only softness. Only warmth. 

Harry thought himself ridiculous for even entertaining these thoughts. He was the DARK LORD; something cruel and twisted, the enactor of unspeakable evil. There was no kindness in him. 

And so Harry found himself sitting upon his bed, poring over the reading materials for one of his classes while completely unable to focus on what was in front of him. He had been living in disconnect since what had happened, and it was beginning to catch up with him. 

After a while of this, Ron approached Harry to ask whether he had seen his pet rat around. After determining that he had not, Ron sighed defeatedly and sat down on the bed beside him. He had a look of cautious concern in his eyes.  
“Harry, do you need to talk? It really seems like something is wrong,” he said, resting his palms at his knees. “Hermione and I want to know if there’s anything we can do.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry replied, his voice tinged with frustration. “I’m fine. I’ve just been a little busy lately.”  
“You aren’t _yourself_ , Harry. Has something happened to you?” His persistence frustrated Harry. Of course he wanted to make sense of everything, but he was much too ashamed to speak of it. What would he even say?  
“Nothing has happened and I am fine, really. Now do you want me to help you find your rat or not? We still have an hour to search before tea. Honestly Ron, you should know better than to let him out unsupervised.” And with that, the conversation had been dismissed. 

\-- 

That night, as Scabbers the rat and the rest of the students were safe and deep into their slumber, Harry woke to use the bathroom. He tried to walk silently so as not to disturb anyone, and when he was done he stood for a long while in front of the basin, watching his reflection in the mirror. As he focused his gaze on himself, he saw a small blurred light moving in the window behind him. Harry turned to check whether he had really seen anything at all, and what he found was a glowing sphere of light which appeared to be batting itself against the glass like a moth. It seemed almost alive, like it was trying to get to him. 

Harry wound the window open slightly until he felt it become stuck. The light found its way in through the open crack at the bottom and came towards Harry, moving around him and gesturing back again towards the window. It wanted him to go somewhere. To follow it. 

After several attempts, Harry managed to close the window again with the ball of light trapped outside, and quickly returned to his dresser to retrieve the cloak so that he could leave without being seen. He pulled it over his shoulders eagerly. Making his way downstairs, he could see the light follow alongside him through each of the windows. Its movement was gentle yet lively, a small thing softly glowing into the night. When he had made it outside the light had caught up to him, and for a moment it shone a little brighter, as though it were pleased with him. 

He continued following the glowing orb until it lead him again to the forest by the west entrance. Harry wondered what the tell would be this time. He hoped at least that it would involve less death. He went on for a while deeper and deeper into the forest until the light stopped at a small clearing. It glowed again, presumably telling him that he had arrived at his destination. Yet there appeared to be nothing and no one nearby. The night was dark and he could see little but for the small circle of light that surrounded him. 

He didn’t dare call out. Instead he simply waited for whatever was supposed to happen. 

After a few minutes Harry thought that he heard movement. But he soon found that each time he turned, the sound appeared to be coming from somewhere different. He could still see nothing, but he had the impending sense that something was coming towards him. What happened next could not be said, as the author thought it would be elusive and sexy to create an air of mystery. Some might also call this laziness. But when Harry came to after the effects of the transportation spell, he was this time familiar with the space in which he appeared. It was the same place where he had first met Voldemort over a week ago. 

Harry knew to wait quietly until he was met with company, and so again he looked around and wondered what business the villain had in calling for him now. He questioned what might happen between the two of them, and wondered how he was supposed to act. But Harry was surprised when the large wooden door opened and the figure who stepped through it was not Voldemort at all. It was a young man, close to Harry’s own age. He studied his face intently. The boy was tall and handsome, with dark hair which curled over at one side and a wry expression about him. He smiled at Harry, and Harry felt something within his chest flutter. 

“Now,” said the stranger. “I figured it was about time that we met each other properly.”


End file.
